fingers spread words coming late
to the page, drawn on
like cigarettes from fourth stage
lungs
a slight breath measured in winter air
or the pale laced waiting of vows
suspended
as if an untold sequence of pauses
attempts to hold up an aging sky
the slow fall of an intoxicated horizon
always twelve steps away
unwilling to find the calming light
in an anonymous
garden
to wash jaundice from dilated irises
lah 7.13.15
By Lori Hamilton, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Posted in poetry
Tagged abstract, alcoholism, contemporary, depression, divorce, free verse, pain, sadness
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